In the Key of Insanity Minor
by rayemars
Summary: An unrelated collection of poetry/ficlets, with only one central theme: Ryou Bakura is not a well person.
1. Wergild

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Ryou thinks about his new-found freedom.

Wergild means "man-price."  It's an old Germanic concept that basically states how much you would have to pay to a man's relatives if you killed him, whether accidentally or deliberately.  Perhaps it doesn't fit, but it's a cool word.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's strange that it took me so long to understand  
that it would never work out.  
Because, after all,  
you never wanted it to, did you?  
I tried, I really did;  
but there was only so much I could give,  
because that line between you and me was already so blurred  
that to go any further would have been mental suicide.

And despite what everyone thinks,  
I'm not ready to quit living yet.

And I can't say that I like the silence,  
and I'm not sure I'm used to living alone inside my head yet;  
but it has to start somewhere, right?  
I needed to get away from you.  
I'm glad you understood,  
and let me have my own life back and all.

And to think, I only had to give you my friends to do it.

Like you said, a small price to pay  
for this peace and quiet inside my head.


	2. Feudalism

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Came from a discussion of the theory of feudalism in British Lit.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light and dark, dark and light.  
Everyone wants to see things  
in terms of black and white.  
You'd think that that  
would make it clearer, but no;  
they still don't know what they're looking at.

Sometimes I wonder why it is  
that people can't see things.  
My friends, for instance, are so blind.  
I feel bad for them.  
They think I have a terrible relationship with my darkness.

I don't know why;  
nothing could be more the opposite.  
After all, I'm the landlord,  
and we made an unspoken bargain on the rent.

I have his complete loyalty, so long  
as I always protect him.  
He will let no harm come to me, ever.

Well, except for what he does. But that's not so bad.  
Pain from one versus pain from a dozen or more....

I'm not blind. I knew which one to choose.


	3. Canvas

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

There's a reason why I'm not in art....  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I like to watch you while you draw.  You make such pretty patterns.

And it doesn't hurt a bit.

Lying on my bed, in my soul room, nothing hurts.  It will when I go back, though.  "Phantom pain"--it's kind of odd, but I've gotten used to it.  The wound won't be there, but I'll feel it.

'Wound' is such a mean word.  That's not a wound; you do art.  And I like to watch.

You're very good at this, you know you are.  Most people would have trouble drawing with the blood in the way, but you...it's not a problem.  Never is.  You're too good.

You're completely focused on what you're doing; you don't even feel me watching you.  That's nice.  I like being able to lay here on my stomach and cradle my head in my arm as I watch.  It's not like I have anything better to do, anyway.

You must have a really great idea today--you've been drawing for over...um...I don't know.  I can't tell time here.  But my other arm is stretched out in front of you, and the pattern runs all the way from my shoulder to my wrist.  I'm not sure what it looks like--I can't see clearly with the blood smeared around--but I know it's beautiful.  I know they all were.

It's going to hurt a lot when I go back outside.  But I haven't done that much lately, so it doesn't really matter.  Right now I feel fine.

You take my hand and pull it forward slightly so the skin on the underside of my wrist is stretched out and smooth.  The skin I can see looks so thin, and it's a reminder of how delicate and hard this work must be for you.  Some of the blood smears on the sheet, but that's okay.  The fabric has been stained for so long, I don't even remember what color it originally was.  I can't find a clean spot to check, and it's not like I have a washing machine in here.

I don't care.  I don't sleep here, anyway.  And a sheet is a small thing to give up for your art.

I don't think you noticed, but you always kneel when you do this.  I never see you on your knees except for when you're drawing.  I like having this kind of power.  Who cares about the sheets?

Oops.  Either I looked at you too long, or you finished for today, because now you're glaring at me and your eyes are the same color as my arm.  But I've gotten used to that, too.

I look away and instead frown at my arm, trying to see the pattern.  I can never make them out, but I really want to know what they are.  I'm sure they're amazing--you wouldn't concentrate so hard unless they were really important to you.

And you draw them on me, so they have to be important.  After all, I know how much I mean to you.

You make a snort of disgust and throw the knife down on the bed.  It barely even bounces on the sticky, tacky sheet.

What did I do wrong now?  I haven't said anything.  You used to get angry when I talked--I guess it messed up your concentration--so I stopped.  Was I not supposed to look at you either?  But I was really quiet....

I look up to see if there is anything in your face to give me a clue, but you've already stormed out.  I can hear your door slam down the corridor.

You left the knife here, but that doesn't tell me anything.  I'm not going to use it.  I'm not an artist, like you--I tried to copy one of your patterns once, but I just wound up hurting myself.

Instead, I tug a corner of the sheet out from under the mattress and try to wipe the blood off.  I don't do a very good job, though, and I still can't figure out the pattern.  It's too complex.  I can't even see the part on the inside of my arm near my shoulder, no matter how much I twist around.

Suddenly, my room just...shifts, and I'm in my other room.  The one in the house, the one with the clean sheets on the bed.  I have to bite down in my hand to keep from crying out, because it hurts just as much as I knew it would.  My head hurts now, too, and I'm suddenly so tired.

My arm is still stretched out, but now it's because I can't bear to move it.  It's smooth and pale again--your drawing is gone, just like all the other drawings are gone, just like all the ones you'll do later will be gone too.  And I didn't figure this one out, either.

I wish I had.  I know it was pretty.


	4. Incomparable

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Based on the Great Chain of Being, basically a Medieval poetry pattern which starts off with plants (or, if you want to be sarcastic, rocks) and ends with the realm of religion. Humans are on the dividing line in-between beasts and saints. Idea itself came from the professor saying "No one else, not animals, not angels, etcetera, gets to choose like we do."

Well, that, and the fact that Ryou-as-angel pictures have always disturbed me. But this is because they make me wonder how exactly it would feel to have wings grafted onto your back.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have no wings,  
and I am expected to be an angel.

I don't understand why they want it this way.  
I am missing something  
in their idea of me:  
a chance of living in reality.

I am the angel, and he is the animal.  
Between the two of us,  
there should be a human being.  
But there's not.

It's just us--the extremes of two realms  
that can't make it to a comfortable middle.

Neither of us was given the right to choose;  
we're just expected to play the parts.  
For whatever reason, the two of us  
aren't allowed to be human.

It's not right, but there's nothing to do.  
He seems to revel  
in his restriction of evil.  
And I am the good one and must not complain.

I must not complain....  
I must not complain....


	5. Reverdie

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Reverdie means spring song, or literally "regreening." Examples of it are flowery, poetic descriptions of the arrival of Spring, such as the opening lines of Chaucer's General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.

Title comes from my sense of humor.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can't stop laughing.

My knuckles are beginning to sting--I didn't realize that hitting someone would hurt me as well.  Nowhere near as much as it has you, but still...ow.

I can't make myself care.  I can't even pay attention to it.  I'm too happy.  This is so much fun!  Why didn't you tell me earlier?

My face is hurting from grinning so long, too.  Hee.  All these little pains...did they happen to you?  You have to admit, that's funny.  I wouldn't have thought that I mattered enough for you to inconvenience yourself.

Though I've inconvenienced myself for you.  You're everything, after all.  It's just startling to still get these little reminders that we aren't different.

Well, not very different, I guess.  I don't think you're capable of the cruelty I am.  After all, you surely would have practiced it on me by now if you could.  But you never did.

Maybe I'm an extremist.  Or maybe I just don't have boundaries.  After all, I wasn't supposed to be the bad one--so why would there be a limit to what I would do if I chose that path?  It makes sense to me.

Humm...I wonder if the same could be said for you.  If you weren't meant to be the good one, but you decided to be, would you be capable of boundless love?

I can't see that.  But then, I wasn't expecting this either, so that's not too important.

Are you even awake?  I knew that was a crack I heard earlier....

I place my hand on your chest and push.  Things that should be immobile shift under my palm, a rib puncturing soft tissue, and you try to cover your whimper with a hiss.

This is so fun!

I watch your hands clench above the belt I used to tie them together, but you won't look at me.  Can you look at me?  I can't have hurt you too much, not yet.  I want to do so much more; I have all these ideas, all these plans, all these things I've never thought of before that just keep coming at me a mile a minute and I want to try them all **right now**.

And there's nobody on this earth that I want to try them on but you.  I can keep you in my soul room forever, and no one'll be the wiser.  Think of this as your new rent.

I press my palm down harder, and your face twists in pain.  Bones feel so fragile when they've already been broken.  Interesting fact I didn't learn in Anatomy number 37.

"Bakura-sama..." I manage to get out between giggles.  "Bakura-sama, I know you're awake."

Even though your face is swelling badly you force yourself to look at me, and your eyes are the perfect color to match your rage.  You can't believe that I fought back by becoming worse than you could ever be.  You hate me so much.

And I can't stop laughing.


	6. Dream Chthonic I

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

"Chthonic" is a term that means of or relating to the underworld.

In an apocryphal version of Genesis, Lilith was the original wife of Adam. But she went all women's lib on him, so Adam had God replace her with Eve.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wick sputtered, flickered, and finally caught flame.  Bakura blinked at the sudden brightness.  He squinted, trying to get a focus on what he could see from the faint light.

The larger candle that had lit his own pulled away, and Bakura blinked again when he saw the tall woman illuminated in its light.  It took him a moment to realize she was naked.  He blushed and jerked his gaze away.  "Um...thank you for the candle."

"You're welcome," she said pleasantly.  "I couldn't have one of my own stumbling.  Come, follow me."  She turned and started walking down the hall.

Bakura blinked a third time, then decided to stop doing that since it made it even harder to see.  "Your...own?  Ah...think you have me confused with someone," he said as followed her down the hall, trying to keep his gaze on her hair.

The woman glanced over her shoulder and gave him an admonishing look.  "Now, now.  Do you think I wouldn't know one of my own sons?"

Bakura tripped slightly over the carpet and held his candle out further.  "But you aren't my mother."

The woman shook her head.  "Of course not.  I'm a bit older than I look.  But I am your ancestor, ages and ages hence."  

"I don't know what you mean," Bakura said honestly.

She paused and turned around, and Bakura shifted his gaze to the floor.  The woman took a step towards him and placed a hand on his chest, where the Millennium Ring gleamed dully in the candlelight.  "I can feel your hate, my boy.  You are definitely a child of Lilith.  You will understand soon enough."  She turned around.  "Now hurry.  There is something to do."

Bakura resumed following her down the hall.  "I think I'm dreaming."

Lilith laughed cheerfully.  "Are you ever awake?" she asked.

"Um...."  Bakura noticed that the candle wax was beginning to drip down his fist.  Before he could think of an answer, they came to the end of the hallway.

"Lover!" Lilith cried happily, running over to a male form standing in the shadows and kissing him.

Bakura stood awkwardly in the doorway and thought about shifting the candle to his other hand.  A moment later, the two broke apart and looked at him.

"Another of your children?" the male asked.  At the sound of his voice, Bakura started shaking badly.  He dropped the candle.

"Hush," Lilith said.  "You'll scare him.  They get more diluted with each generation."

"A pity," he said.  Bakura, shivering violently, hugged his arms to his chest and leaned heavily against the door frame as the male continued.  "Those that belong to Him never change."

"Lucifer, **please**," Lilith pleaded.  

With a rustle of wings, the demon was quiet.  

After a few minutes Bakura finally managed to stop shaking.  He jolted when Lilith cupped his cheek in her palm.

"There's a good boy," she crooned.  "Are you better now?"

Bakura nodded carefully.

"Very good," she said, smiling pleasantly.  "And you know what you're supposed to do, now?"

Bakura nodded, slower this time.  "Do I have to?" he asked.

"Don't you want to?" Lilith replied.

Bakura shut his eyes tightly.  He nodded, once.

Lilith smiled sweetly at him and patted his cheek.  "Here you go."  She placed something heavy in his hand.  Bakura clenched his fingers around it, and Lilith turned his fist over and brushed the dried candle wax off.  Then she stood up and walked back over to the demon.  The pair watched him silently.

Bakura opened his hand and stared down.  He recognized the object as an old-fashioned straight razor--his father had one in a drawer somewhere.  It just seemed like an odd choice for the weapon.

Bakura tugged open the blade.  He stepped through the doorway and into the room.

When he reached the bed, he smiled.  Yuugi was lying there, sprawled out on the blankets and fast asleep.  Bakura waited for a moment, but Yuugi didn't wake.  After a moment Bakura sighed, and brushed aside a strand of the other teenager's bangs.  Bakura leaned down and kissed his lips.  "You're really fun to be around," he said, and slit Yuugi's throat.

Bakura woke up and blinked at the ceiling several times.  "Bleh," he said at the bad taste in his mouth, half-tempted to get up and brush his teeth.  He glanced around for the alarm clock.

"Mruh?" Yuugi said, lifting his head and giving Bakura a half-asleep look.  "Ryou?"

Bakura smiled at him.  "I just had a dream.  You can go back to sleep."

"'Kay," Yuugi said and dropped his head back to the pillow.  A moment later he was snoring quietly.

Bakura's smile softened until it was little more than a lift of his lips.  He curled onto his side, facing Yuugi.

Bakura brushed a finger absently along the line of Yuugi's neck until he drifted back to sleep as well.


	7. Dream Chthonic II

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi--a man in serious need of therapy. (Dark Necrophilia...eaugh.)

Though it never comes up, in Malik's dream he's killing his shadow (Rishid).  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I keep having this weird dream," Bakura said suddenly.

Malik swallowed his french fries and said, "What?"

"It's...strange," Bakura began.  "I'm standing in this hallway and I have a candle, and then this woman lights it and tells me to follow her."

"Is she naked?" interrupted Malik.

Bakura blushed slightly.  "Um...."

"And her name's Lilith?" Malik continued.

Bakura looked at him, eyes wide.  "You too?"

Malik nodded.  "Yeah.  I don't like that dream."

Bakura propped his chin on his hand and took a sip of his soda.  He gazed over Malik's shoulder with a thoughtful expression.  "Did she give you a straight razor too?" he asked.

Malik frowned.  "What's a straight razor?"

Bakura put the cup down.  "It's this old-fashioned blade...."  He made a few vague hand gestures, then gave up.  "Never mind.  What were you supposed to use?"

Malik crammed the fries he'd been holding into his mouth and swiped at a napkin with his palm.  He shifted slightly on the bench and reached into his pocket.  After a moment of rummaging, Malik sat straight again.  He slid his fist along the table until the tray was hiding the view from the rest of the restaurant, and lifted his palm slightly to reveal a Swiss army knife.

Bakura nodded, and Malik pushed the knife back into his pocket.

"I bought it a little while after I gave the Millennium Rod to Yuugi," Malik said.  "I was too edgy, not having a weapon on me.  Then it showed up in the dream."

Bakura sipped his soda again and made a face; most of the ice had melted, making it watery and lukewarm.  He put it aside.  "I wonder why they chose those things.  A razor and a pocket knife.  I mean, it's very odd."

"They?" Malik asked.  "You mean the guy with wings is in your dream too?"

"Uh-huh," Bakura said.

Malik's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth slightly.  "I hate that guy.  Half the time I want to kill him instead."  He viciously bit a fry.

Bakura blinked several times.  "I....I never thought of that," he mused.  He propped his chin on his hand again and stared out the window.

"I hate it when he talks," Malik said simply.  "I've tried to stop listening."

Bakura continued to gaze out the window while Malik stole his soda.  Then his eyes focused on one person among several on the sidewalk.  "Yuugi-kun!" he said cheerfully.  Bakura pushed his wrapper and Malik's empty cup onto his tray.  "I'll see you later?"

Malik waved at him with another fry.  "Bye."

Bakura hurriedly threw his trash away and jogged outside.  "Yuugi!" he called.

Yuugi glanced around, then grinned when he saw Bakura wave at him.  He stopped and waited for the other teenager to catch up.  "Hey, Ryou!" he said in greeting.  "I'm going to meet Jounouchi-kun at that new game shop."

"There's another one?" Bakura asked.  "Isn't your grandfather going to be upset about the competitors?"

Yuugi winked at him.  "That's why Jounouchi-kun and I are going on a reconnaissance mission."

Bakura laughed and shook his head.  "I always wanted to be a spy," he said as they continued down the sidewalk.

He looked inside as they passed the burger stand, but Malik had already left the booth.


	8. Dream Chthonic III

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Japanese characters, American prison/legal system. I know, shame on me.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the guard came into the cell to handcuff Bakura, his eyes had a funny blank look.  Bakura didn't figure it out until he reached the visiting area.  He smiled when he saw Malik standing on the other side of the Plexiglas wall.

"Hello," Bakura said.

"Hey," answered Malik.

"They let you in?" Bakura asked.

"They didn't have a choice," Malik answered.  "Come here, Bakura."

Bakura stepped closer to the glass, and Malik continued.  "I have a plan to get you out."

Bakura blinked.  "Get me out?  Why?"

Malik looked at him.  "What do you mean, 'why?'"

"I killed Yuugi-kun," Bakura said.

"Yes, you did," Malik agreed.

Bakura paused.  "I thought I was still dreaming," he said quietly, staring at his hands.

"I know," Malik said.  "But they don't.  A depraved-heart murder charge is only third degree, but that's still pretty bad, Bakura.  Your life's going to be ruined when you get out of here."

Bakura looked up.  "Is that what it was called?"

"You weren't paying attention?" Malik demanded.

Bakura shook his head.  "It didn't seem important anymore."

Malik tapped his fingers against his leg.  "Okay.  You shouldn't have listened to that guy.  But now you need to listen to me."  Malik made sure Bakura was looking at him, then said, "What I'm going to do is start a situation--a fight, with you in the middle."

Bakura's eyes widened, and Malik shook his head slightly.  "Don't worry.  I'll be controlling everything.  But you **are** going to have to get hurt, badly.  The best thing would be if you wind up in the hospital after someone tries to kill you."

Bakura continued to stare at him with wide eyes, but didn't step away.

"After that, your lawyer will have the grounds to get you moved to a new prison," Malik explained.  "They'll take you out of here and transfer you."

"Transfer me?" Bakura asked.  Malik nodded.

"Yeah, to a new jail.  It'll probably be in an armored car, with some guards, but I can take care of that."

Bakura frowned.  "I thought you could only do one at a time," he said.  Bakura glanced at the guard, who had been staring straight ahead the entire time.

Malik looked as well, before turning back to Bakura.  "I took back the Tauk and Eye and the other Items."

Bakura tilted his head.  "Did you get the Sennen Ring?"

Malik glanced away.  "No, I couldn't find it."

Bakura chewed on his lip.  "It should still be at home.  Did you ask my father?"

"That's okay," Malik said.  "I've still got enough power to pull this off.  I can do it tonight, and you'll be free as soon as the paperwork goes through."

"But I killed Yuugi-kun," Bakura said.

"I know," Malik said.  "Do you trust me?  Will you be okay if I do it tonight?"

Bakura paused, then nodded.  "Yes."

Malik gave Bakura a slight smile, then his face turned serious.  "No matter what, don't fight back.  If the guards see that you aren't doing anything to these guys and they're the aggressors, the transfer will go through a lot quicker."

"What if it isn't you?" Bakura asked.

"I'll tell you before I start," Malik said.  He paused and narrowed his eyes.  "Has anything happened to you, Bakura?"

Bakura gave him a half-smile.  "I'm okay."

Malik continued to stare at him with that narrow gaze.  Finally he said, "Just lay low, and you'll be in the hospital tonight.  I'll make the driver stop the truck and get you out while they're transferring you, and then....Then we'll think of something.  You'll have to get out of Japan for sure."  Malik gave him a speculative look.  "I'll get Isis to get tickets to Egypt.  We'll dye your hair before you get on the plane, and I'll keep people from looking at you too closely."

Bakura was staring at him with wide eyes again.  Finally he nodded, once.  "Thank you, Malik-kun."

"What are friends for?" Malik asked.  "I'll see you soon."

The guard stepped forward and motioned for Bakura to leave.  Bakura complied.  As he walked to the door that led back to his cell, he glanced over his shoulder.  Malik was still standing on the other side of the Plexiglas.  Bakura turned his head and stepped into the main part of the jail.

That night, the dream came back.

Bakura tugged open the blade.  He stepped through the doorway and into the room.

When he reached the bed, he didn't smile.  Malik was lying there, sprawled out on the blankets and wide awake.  Bakura waited for a moment, but Malik didn't speak.  After a moment Bakura sighed, and brushed aside a strand of the other teenager's bangs.  Malik looked up at him, and Malik **understood**.

Bakura turned and threw the razor at Lilith.


	9. Binaries

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi. I have no hand in its creation, and I think that's been proven a good thing.

A binary system is two stars that circle each other due to their mutual gravitational attraction. However, if the stars get too close...you don't want to be there. Though, one of the stars will usually eat the other before they can collide in something called gravitational tidal force, which rips the weaker star apart. I was listening to this lecture and all I could think was "...Bakura!"

The quote is from John Milton's Paradise Lost, Book 1. It's one of Satan's speeches, actually. Heh.

This is end, so far as I intend to write insane!Ryou. For this particular fic.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This utter and free drifting,  
always circling but never touching;

you can't touch, or you'll die.  
Simple as that. If we get too close,  
we'll be pulled in and one of us   
will be consumed by the other.

The question is: which one?

He's the one with the drive, the quest,  
the "unconquerable will and study of revenge;"  
it would be common sense to think  
I would fall under the strength of his hate.

But   
     on   
          the   
               other   
                    hand....

I am the one who is empty.  
I have nothing which I choose to call my own,  
and therefore I have room   
for all that he is.

He is the power, the force, the might between us;  
and I am the void, the emptiness,   
the apathy that will be  
the eventual destruction of all our dreams.  
All that he exudes, I drain away.

He can't touch, or he'll die.


	10. Charity

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

I said that the last chapter was the end. I lied. It happens sometimes.

This isn't exactly a ficlet, or insane!Ryou, and it's not really a story on its own, but...eh. It amused me. This works only if you assume that whenever Bakura 'dies', he winds up in the Shadow Realm instead of the afterworld.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Back in my day, we had it all set up. You lined up when you died, and you'd answer for your evil deeds and your good deeds, and if your evil deeds outweighed a feather, we'd feed your soul and your heart to Ammet, the Eater of Souls."

"He must have eaten a lot of people."

"Not as many as you'd think. It was a really heavy feather. We had it made special. You had to be pretty damn evil to tip the scales on that baby."  
-- Anubis and Shadow, American Gods by Neil Gaiman

Bakura stumbled over the last step and had to cling to the banister to keep from falling face-first on the carpet.

Go back and put the Ring on, the thief ordered.

_No_, he answered.  _It took a long time to get like this.  I'm not going to start over again_.

You're being an idiot, respected landlord, was the reply.  Just go back downstairs.

_You don't understand_, Bakura answered.

I understand perfectly well!  You've kept the Ring off for too long--any more and we're going to risk death!

_You see?_ the teenager said.  _You don't understand._

....

You won't make it, Bakura said flatly.

_Sure I will_, he answered.  _It's only a few feet.  I set everything up last week._

I should have known.  The words were not meant for him to pick up, but the teenager did anyway.  The connection had become so frayed with the removal of the Sennen Ring that everything bled over now.

_I don't see why.  It's not like I've ever thought of this before_, Bakura said.

Then why are you bothering to think of it now?  Turn around.

_Nope_.  Bakura stood up and stumbled the few feet into the bathroom.  _Don't worry; I know what I'm doing._

He had taken the Ring off two weeks ago, and it was only now that he was certain the thief wouldn't be able to take over, no matter how desperate.  The problem was, he could barely move.  His attempt at severing the connection hurt--like the feeling that he got when his leg fell asleep and he tried to walk on it, only full-body.

I'll be glad to help you satisfy your sudden urge for pain, but not when you're risking my neck too, Bakura growled.

_Pain?_ the teenager asked.  He leaned heavily on the counter and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out an economy-sized bottle of Motrin.  _I never liked pain.  That was always you._

Bakura leaned down to the open the cabinet underneath the sink and wound up falling heavily to the floor.  "Ow."

Go put the Ring on, and I'll forget that this happened.  If the thief's voice hadn't been so deadly calm, Bakura would have thought he was panicking.  Or maybe he was panicking because he **was so calm.  After all, calm wasn't really an adjective that fit him.**

Bakura managed to open the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of wine he'd put there, left over from the dinner his father had had for some fellow archeologists.  A few minutes later, he finally pried out the cork and took a sip.  He made a face.  _It doesn't taste very good warm_.

Do you really think this is going to work? Bakura asked, voice still calm.

The teenager popped open the bottle of Motrin and shook a dozen of the rectangular orange pills into his hand.  He slid them into his mouth and took another drink of wine.  _I hope so.  I couldn't get a prescription for sleeping pills._

The thief stayed silent until he repeated the process.  I hate you.

Bakura wiped away some of the wine that had spilled on his chin.  _I know._

I've waited ages for this chance at the Sennen Items, and now you have the presumption to kill me.  You can't possibly 'know'.  Bakura's voice still seemed calm, but when the teenager listened a little closer he realized that it was really so enraged that the words came out quietly.

He shook a third handful of pills out and washed them down with more wine.  _I told you, you don't understand.  I'm doing this for a reason._

Really, Bakura said bitterly.  Enlighten me.

_You should see pretty soon_, the teenager answered.  _At least, I hope you will.  I hope I guessed right.  I don't want to die needlessly._

All your deaths are needless, respected landlord.  The title was a knee-jerk reaction, not intended to be said anymore.  The teenager knew this because the thief thought it.

**Everything** was bleeding through with the removal of the Ring.

Bakura downed a fourth handful of pills, but spilled several in the process.  His coordination was getting worse.  It was supposed to take half an hour for the ibuprofen to start working--had that much time passed already?

If you hurry, you can still call 911.

_I told you, no_.

Bakura decided that the handfuls were taking too long.  He raised the bottle to his lips and tilted it up.  One of the pills fell out of his mouth, and he made a half-hearted motion to catch it before it hit the floor.  He took a longer gulp of the wine.  It was starting to taste better.

I would have expected you to be afraid, Bakura mused.  As angry as the thought made him, there was nothing left that he could do to stop the teenager.  He was reduced to powerless words.

_This isn't the frightening part_, he replied.  _It's what's coming after that scares me._

What are you talking about now?

_You still believe in them, don't you?_ Bakura asked.  _Ra and Anubis and Horus and Ammet and whoever else you people had?_

**What**?

He carefully tilted the bottle again, trying not to spill any more pills.  _I hope you do.  We're in trouble otherwise, because I don't._

You've lost your mind. 

_I think that happened the first time I believed you were real_.

Bakura almost managed to empty the bottle before he passed out.

~~~~~

Bakura blinked twice and pushed himself into a sitting position.  _Where the hell...?_

It worked, the teenager said next to him.

The thief jerked his head around and his eyes widened slightly when he realized Bakura was physically sitting next him.  **_What_**_ worked?!_

We're at the scales.  He pointed.

Bakura glared into the gloom, and his expression froze when he saw a jackal-headed man standing before a set of scales.  _What_--

"It has been a long time since anyone has come here," Anubis stated.  "And I do not think anyone has appeared split in half."

The thief and the teenager stood up.  "It's a very long story, um, lord," Bakura said.  "I killed myself.  And we came here, because he believes in you."

"I know these things," Anubis replied.

The teenager nodded.  "Um.  Actually...I guess it's a short story.  You have to judge us now, right?"

Anubis stepped forward.  He reached one hand into the teenager's chest and another into the thief's, and pulled out a single heart.  

A tall woman set a feather on one of the trays with all appropriate reverence and pomp.

...who's that? he asked.

_Ma'at_, Bakura answered.  He folded his arms as Anubis placed the heart on the opposite tray.  _It's going to tip._

I guess so, the teenager mused.  You killed a lot of people.

_This wasn't very clever of you, respected landlord.  You're going to die alongside me_.

That's never happened before.  Why would it happen now?

Bakura watched as the scale ceased rocking and settled, with the heart decidedly lower than the feather.  _Perhaps because this is the **end?**_

"You have been found unworthy," Anubis announced.  Something shifted underneath the scale.

The thief's face twisted up in hatred, and then Bakura stepped forward.  

"And since I'm the one who killed myself, it's my soul that'll be eaten, right?"

The thief's hands fell to his side as Anubis nodded and said, "Correct."

The teenager sighed.  "Good.  I was afraid I'd guessed wrong."

He stared.  _What do you think you're doing?!  When Bakura took another step towards the scales and the creature beneath, he clenched his fists._

What does it look like? the teenager answered.  I'm trading with you.  You have a second chance now.

_You...what?_  Bakura clenched his hands tight enough that the nails dug into his palms and cut the skin.  _You little fool!  I'm not going to change!_

I know, he said quietly.  It's a second chance to get what you want.  

_...**Why?!**_

I'm tired of loving you.

Bakura took a third, hesitant step forward, and then could no longer force himself to move.  A moment later, Ammet slithered out from under the scale and open his jaws wide.

The teenager screamed very loudly.  The thief squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears.  The gods remained dispassionate.

It ended quickly, but the echoes took a moment longer to fade.  Bakura straightened and the jackal-headed god looked at him.

"You have been paid for.  Where do you wish to go?"

He folded his arms again and clenched his fists to hide the fact that his hands wouldn't stop shaking.  "I want to return to the living world."

"Very well."

The thief watched as Anubis removed the heart from the scale and fed it to Ammet.  He then fell to his knees and blacked out.

~~~~~

When he woke up, his body was still dead.  He checked for a heartbeat, and found nothing.

_Respected landlord_, he called.  There was no answer.  He was, finally, alone again.

Bakura stood up carefully, and looked disdainfully at the wine bottle and the few orange pills scattered along the floor.  Then he made his way downstairs and put on the Ring that the teenager had hidden.  He pulled on a coat and walked out of the house, heading towards the Turtle Game Shop.

If he gathered the Sennen Items within his reach quickly, their combined power would be great enough that he could prevent his body from rotting.


	11. Omote and Ura

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Sukaigetsu kindly told to me what the whole ura - omote terms meant (underside - surface), and my initial reaction was "Cooooool." For Bakura at least, this seems a lot more fitting than the yami - hikari stuff.

Quote is from J.R.R. Tolkien's Fellowship of the Ring.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stretch out my arms  
and spread, so very very thin--  
"like butter scraped over too much bread,"  
because his hatred runs so very very deep  
that I can barely cover it.

So very deep, so very wide,  
this pit beneath me,  
this darkness that lies  
right underneath my skin.

He is black  
and he is angry  
and he is eternal  
and he is stronger than me  
and I am tired.

And no matter how wide I spread,  
I can't keep it all in;  
he bleeds through me like ink through paper.  
Like pus from a boil.  
Like blood from a wound.  
Like my blood from my wounds.

I can never keep him in,  
no matter how far I spread.

My surface isn't wide enough.


	12. Mercy

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

This **is** the end, because I'm getting bored of the subject matter. I was going to have the actions below checked to make sure they were physically possible, but I'm an impatient brat, so I just fudged enough to (hopefully) be safe. If you correct me, I'm going to both be grateful and wonder how you know that.

After my comment on Malik, I had people explain how his actions fit the family structure he was raised in, and that he was actually a pretty sweet child in the anime. So I'll rethink my opinion of him. Plus, writing this helped a lot; made me pity him.

Yeah, you should take that as a warning.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know nothing is impossible.

But **this** is beginning to look like it.

The knife hadn't been too hard to get.  Father absently left a credit card out one day, so all I had to do was copy the number.  With some maneuvering, I managed to order it over the Internet--though it took a while to arrive.  He'd started getting restless; I almost thought I'd have to fight him for more time.

The morphine was a little more difficult, but not by much.  I didn't bother trying to go through legal channels--why let his thieving skills go to waste?  The same for the hypodermic needles, though I don't need as many as I have.  But I can just throw them in the trash when I'm done.

And Malik-kun was the easiest.  All I had to was smile and tell him about a video I wanted him to see, and he invited me over.

But now...getting the skin off his back is more difficult than I'd expected.  I've only just finished cutting the outline around the tattoos, and I still need to slice it away from the muscles and bones and pull it off.

And the time it's taking!  My hand's starting to cramp around the knife handle, and even **I'm getting sick of the smell of blood.  That has to say something.  And I'm barely halfway done.**

Are you even listening?

....

I could use some help here.

No.

You can be really mean at times.  Fine, then.  But if I screw up, it's your fault.

Hn.

He's being disturbingly quiet, for him.  Oh, well.  I don't think I need his help, anyway.  This shouldn't be too hard--I think the trick is just to keep my hand steady.

I might as well start at the shoulder blade--the bone will give me a smooth surface to work on.  I slip the blade under the flap that I made earlier when I was cutting the outline and begin to pry the skin up.  Malik-kun whimpers.

It was hard to hear him through the gag, but I look up anyway.  If he's starting to feel pain, the morphine might be wearing off.  And if that's happened then he'll start moving, and then I'll **never get this done without wrecking it.  That's why I couldn't take a break, even when my hand began cramping.**

Malik-kun's face is twisted to the side and shiny with sweat or tears, or both--I'm not sure--and his eyes are squeezed shut.  But he's not moving, so I go back to slicing the skin away from the muscles along his side.

The blood is really making this difficult, you know.  The skin is already so thin that I keep tearing it, and now the smell is getting to me.  It's making my hands slip so that Malik-kun keeps whimpering.  That's a distraction.

You're not talking to me.  Fine.

This is hard, but I think I'm finding a pattern.  Slide the knife forward, pull up the skin.  Repeat process.  Wipe off blade--I think I've ruined the sheets--slide, pull.  Slide, pull.  Slide, accidentally dig too deep and Malik-kun makes a choking noise, pull.  Slide, pull....

...Did I just lose track of time?  I **know** I didn't have this much done the last time I looked down.  And I should have remembered all the trouble the ridges of the spine would've given me.

Maybe he did help me?

Yeah, right.  This was my idea--he wouldn't interfere.  I think.  I'm pretty sure.

Oh, well.  It's a good thing I've only got a little more to go--Malik-kun's starting to shiver.  The blood's dribbled down the blade and it's making my hand slippery, and I just want to be finished; so I get clumsy on the last few inches and accidentally dig the knife into the muscles again.  Malik-kun gives a strangled scream when I just slice through the tissue instead of going back and skimming over, like I have before.

Yay, I'm done!  I'm thirsty--I really want something to drink.  And to get away from all this blood.  Yuck.  But, first things first.

The blood smeared over my hands makes it hard to untie the gag, but I manage it.  When I pull the cloth away and take the sock out of Malik-kun's mouth, I finally notice how harshly he's panting.  Guess I was too busy to hear it earlier.

I'm surprised Malik-kun's still conscious...then again, he **did** get these symbols carved in his back without any kind of anesthesia like the morphine, so I guess I shouldn't be.  But still...wow.

I run a hand through Malik-kun's hair, absently noticing that I'm staining it.  "Don't worry; when the paramedics get here they'll take care of you."

Malik-kun's eyes are still squeezed shut, and he slurs all his words.  So I guess the morphine's still mostly working.  Or the pain.  I remember not being able to talk too coherently when I was in pain.  "Like...y'd let...B'kura...do tha....Bas'rd...."

Huh?  What's he mean?

....

I lean over so I can get a straight view of Malik-kun's face.  "Malik-kun, who do you think this is?"

Malik-kun's eyes open at that.  "B'...kura...?"

I don't like that look.  Why's he looking at me like that?  Like I tore his heart out instead of just taking those tattoos off.  I know he didn't like them, anyway...I'm trying to help!

Of course.  Now, the skin.

I pick up the edges of Malik-kun's back and pull, but there are still a few places where it's attached.  I cut those spots free, not without some trouble, and I'm finally done.  I set the skin on the bed next to Malik-kun.  It's certainly not a perfect job--there are places where the blade slipped and sliced up parts of the tattoos, but it's not as bad as it could be.

Malik-kun isn't looking at me anymore.  I'm not sure what he's looking at.  He's staring forward, but it doesn't seem like he's seeing anything.

There.  Now you have the tattoos, and Yuugi-kun won't be able to get them.  You said you wouldn't hurt Malik-kun if I did it.  You won't, right?

...No, I don't think I need to.  His voice sounds like it's next to my ear instead of inside my head.  Out of the corner of my eye I can see him kneeling next to me and looking down with a thoughtful expression.  He's hazy, though.  Intangible.  I could put my hand through him, if I wanted.

Good.

I stand up and go to the kitchen of the apartment, where the phone is, and call the emergency number.  I don't need to worry about fingerprints or DNA or being caught or anything.  My body's even killed people before, and I've never had to worry.

As soon as I'm done with this, I'll just give control to him, and he'll take care of everything.


	13. Ingratitude

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Lied. Again. As is my wont. But the whole "hatred as ka as power" concept that's running with Yami Bakura in the recent manga is just...ooh, **so** cool, I decided to write this anyway.

Premise: the soul is the essential seat of health for the body. Therefore, Ryou's soul has to be kept in healthy condition, or else the body he and Yami Bakura share will suffer. Yami Bakura's soul however is disembodied, and therefore can sustain injury without damage to the host. If you don't go along with this, YB's actions aren't gonna make much sense.

FluffCat: Heh. Now thatwas an interesting review.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally.  I've been waiting for you to get distracted by something so I could sneak out of my soul room.  You've been keeping a lot more strident watch on me lately; about the only time you stop paying attention is when there's something to do with Yuugi-kun or your evil plans.

I don't really care what you're doing.  I'm just glad to be out.

I shove open the door to your room, and blink in the sudden change from light to darkness.  You really need some candles in here.

You keep hiding the knives after each time, which is pretty pointless I think.  I find them.  I always find them.  I want to, after all; and one of the things I've learned from you is that will means everything in the mind.

It takes me a little while, but at last I spot them.  They're hidden in one of the corners of the maze you call your soul.

You're still distracted, so I take the time to find one of my favorites.  It has a nice handle I can grip, and the blade is serrated.  The metal is stained from all the blood you never bothered to clean off.

I smile, a tiny little smile at the corners of my mouth, looking at the knife for a moment before sitting down with my back to the wall.  I pull off my shirt and begin cutting.

It takes you longer than usual to notice me this time--or maybe you forgot where you put the knives.  It's been a while, after all.  Either way, I've managed to slice up both my arms as well as my chest before the knife is wrenched out of my grasp and thrown against the wall.

You snarl, grabbing my arms and yanking me up.  Your hands reopen some of the first cuts, and I stumble and nearly fall against you.  This does hurt me, you know.  I **am aware of what I'm doing.**

Growling under your breath about what you're going to do to me once you no longer need my body as your host, you sling me roughly into your arms and begin carrying me back to my room.

I don't see why you always get so upset.  I'm giving you a reason to hate me.  You told me once that hate was power--I'm making you stronger.

You should be grateful.

After you dump me on the floor in my soul room, you glare once more before putting your hands on my chest.  I never have figured out how you do this, and I honestly wasn't expecting it the first time--not that you need to know that.  I'm sure you do, but I'm not going to tell you or anything.

There's a tingly feeling, and then all the pain goes away.  I open my eyes and look at you.  Your shirt's beginning to stain from all the blood, and I can see the gashes along your forearms.

You start to stand up, and then sink abruptly to one knee.  Oh--did I forget to mention that I stabbed myself in the leg, while I was at it?  Whoops, sorry about that.  When you take over **my** body again, you're going to be limping for a while.

You stand, clenching your jaw tightly as if, if you don't make any noise, I won't think you're in pain.  I know you are; I made those injuries, remember?  I know that it hurts, and I know that the feeling carries over into the real world, and you can't lie to me.  All the world, but not me.

I'm you, after all.  I'm the kindness that had to be formed because you're nothing but unrelenting hatred.  I didn't **ask to be an anthropomorphization of the feelings you abandoned, but reincarnations are rarely consulted in what they want.**

And I'm very kind to you.  I make you stronger every time I manage to get out.  I feed your hatred.

You really should be grateful.

You leave, off to do whatever it is you do while pretending to be me, and you're going to have to explain to my friends that you're just clumsy.  And then they'll look at you, and at the Ring, and offer to help destroy you so I won't be hurt any longer.

And you will hate even more.

Ingrate.

I stretch out on the floor and stare at the ceiling, a tiny little smile at the corners of my mouth.


	14. The Lilim I

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

"Lilim" is the term for the children of Lilith.

This is the continuation of Dream Chthonic, from Malik's side. So, it doesn't fit the insane!Ryou requirement, but there's not really anywhere else to put it.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malik woke up at the sound of a scream.  He shook his head, propped himself up on an elbow and looked over at the source of the noise.  Bakura.

Malik swung his legs over the side and reached across the small space between their beds to shake the other teen's shoulder.  Bakura screamed louder.

Malik scowled reflexively.  Then he turned on the lamp, blinked a few times in the sudden light, resigned himself to bleeding that night, and covered Bakura's mouth before shaking him hard.

Bakura screamed again, bit down on his hand, and finally jerked awake.  Panting harshly, the other teen sat up and glanced frantically around the room.  His gaze finally focused on Malik.  

Bakura stared at the blond for a few moments while his breathing became less erratic.  Then he buried his face in his hands.

Malik pressed the corner of his sheet to his palm, trying to staunch the blood.  "You know I can kill them for you," he said flatly.  "Why won't you let me?"

"...Would it help?" Bakura asked quietly, his face still hidden.

Malik blinked.  "I."  Then his face hardened.  "It should.  Once they're gone, you won't have any reason to be afraid."

"But...."  Bakura shivered.  "I don't want to see that much blood, ever again."

There was a slight pause.  "I could have them hang themselves," Malik commented.

To his surprise, Bakura laughed under his breath.  But it wasn't a good sound.  

"I don't think there are enough sheets in one cell for Kishiro."  Bakura wrapped his arms around his legs, but kept his face buried.  "He had such a thick neck...I couldn't get my hands around it...."

Malik sat still on the edge of his bed and watched Bakura clench his fists and shake.  He resisted the urge to touch him--even with something as innocuous as a pat on the back--and waited until Bakura finally pulled his face out of his arms.

Bakura stared at him, hands still clenched and eyes still a little too wide.  "Malik-kun, you promise you'll never let anyone hurt me again?"

"I promise," Malik said.

Bakura gave him a smile.  "Th--thank you."  He stared down at his knees again.  "I wish I had the Ring.  I feel safer with it."

Malik held his hand halfway to the lamp.  "Okay if I turn it off?"

Bakura bit his lip, and then shook his head.  "Can we leave it on for a little bit longer?"

Malik dropped his hand.  "Sure."  He picked up the pillow and covered his face with it.

"Thank you," Bakura said as he curled back up under the covers.

"What are friends for?" Malik mumbled.

The dream came back that night, for the both of them.  Bakura threw his candle at Lilith and refused to budge from the corridor.

Malik, for the first time in several weeks, followed her down the hall to the room.

He wasn't very surprised to find that the person sprawled across the bed had changed.  He could see the demon in the corner, but the male said nothing.  It was Lilith who put the pocket knife in his hand.

Malik sneered at her.  "You always try to tell me that I want to do it, but you have no idea what you're talking about.  I don't want him dead."  He dropped the knife on the carpet with disgust.

Lilith laughed and tossed her hair behind her shoulder.  "My silly boy.  I **know** you don't want to kill him!  You want something else--but the knife can still help you get it."  

Malik started to say something, then hesitated and stopped.  He stared down at the floor, and the edge of the blade glinted in the candlelight.

Finally, Malik reached down and picked the knife up, pulling it open.  He watched the light flicker on the metal.  Then he glanced over at the bed, where he could just make out Bakura's darkened hair

"I want him to stop screaming at night," Malik said, tossing the knife to the side.  "That's all I want."

Lilith gave him a look.  "Liar.  Tsk, tsk."

Malik clenched his fists, then turned and stormed back down the hallway.

"Very well done," Lucifer commented.

Lilith turned and smiled coyly at him.  "Give it time.  My children always obey me in the end."  She walked over to the bed and affectionately brushed aside a strand of Bakura's hair.  He stirred slightly and pressed his cheek against her palm.  "That one's just more stubborn than most."

Malik woke up.  

He knocked the pillow away from his head, and blinked in the artificial glare.  Then he reached over and turned out the light.  Bakura made a sleepy noise at that, and Malik hesitated.  Then he frowned and jammed his hand back under the pillow, turning to face the opposite side.


	15. The Lilim II

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

I know nothing about modern day Egypt. Or youth hostels. Or youth hostels in modern day Egypt. And I'm too lazy to do hardcore research for a ficlet. Corrections to any mistakes will be gratefully accepted.

cheesepuff: I actually **hadn't** intended to write another chapter. But this idea kinda gnawed at my brain.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malik stared out the hall window, looking past the buildings on the riverbank to Al-Gamma Bridge and absently turning the open Swiss army knife in his hand.  The bite mark had scabbed over.

Inside the bathroom, the water cut off.  There was a cough, and a few minutes later Bakura walked out.  He smiled when Malik looked over at him, then bent his head slightly and touched the crown.  "Did I miss any?" he asked.

Malik turned away from the window and moved over to Bakura, knife hanging idly from his hand.  He reached up and started to push Bakura's head down a little further, then noticed the other teen reflexively tensing.

Malik dropped his hand, remembered he was still holding the knife, shut it, slid his hands into his pockets and rose up on his toes, scrutinizing Bakura's freshly browned roots.  "Nope.  You got it all."  He dropped back down.

"Oh, good."  

A brief silence fell with that, as they walked back to their room in the hostel.  The only other person in there was reading in the corner and ignored them.  

Malik sat down on his bed.  "We need to pay soon, if we're staying here another night.  I think it's time to go--we've been here long enough."

"Okay," Bakura said.  "...Where are we going?"

Malik shrugged.  "Further down.  We could always go all the way to Aswan, then turn around and go up the West Bank."

Bakura nodded.  "Okay.  When do you think it'll be safe to go back home?"

Malik gave him a look.  "You can never go back to Domino, Bakura.  It would be pretty stupid to even go back to Japan."

"Oh," Bakura said quietly.  He sat down on the opposite bed.

"What is it?" Malik asked.  "Are you already sick of being here with me?"

Bakura gave him a quizzical look.  "Huh?  No, no, it's just that...today's Yuugi-kun's birthday."  Bakura started toying with the seam of his pants leg.  "I feel like I should be putting flowers on his grave, or something."

"Jounouchi would kill you if he saw you again," Malik said bluntly.

"I know, but--"

"And if you left flowers, he and Anzu would only throw them away."

"I know..." Bakura said, staring at his pants.  "But it would be the right thing to do."  He hesitated.  "And besides...I miss them."

"What?" Malik said.  "You miss **them?  Did you forget ****everything from your trial?"**

"No," Bakura replied.  "But I miss Jounouchi-kun and Anzu-chan, and Honda-kun, and Yuugi-kun, and my Ring and my father and my home."  He gave Malik a half-smile.  "Didn't you ever get homesick when you were in Domino, Malik-kun?"

"No."

"Oh."  Bakura paused, then shrugged self-deprecatingly.  "Well, I am."  He frowned, then lifted his hand to his mouth and started coughing again.

Malik's expression softened slightly.  "Is it getting any better?" he asked.

Bakura kept his hand over his mouth a moment longer, then brought it down and shook his head.  "I'm not sure."

Malik stood up and stretched his arms.  "We'll look for some medicine before we leave," he said.  Bakura nodded.  There was a pause.

"Are you still dreaming?" Bakura asked.

Malik slid his hands into his pockets.  "...Yeah."

"Me too."

Malik fingered the side of the knife as Bakura pulled one of his legs up onto the bed and rested his arm on it.  

"Hasn't this been enough?" the brunette whispered.

"Yes."  Malik sat back down across from him, resting a heel on the bed frame.  "Yes.  So it'll go away eventually if you don't listen."

The corner of Bakura's mouth twisted up.  "That's all I've **been doing," he said.  "And all it's meant so far is that I spend the night staring at the carpet."  He stared past Malik's shoulder, out the window.  "...I'm tired.  And my chest hurts."**

Malik stood up again.  "Take a nap," he said.  "I'll go tell them we're leaving."

"Don't we need to pack?"

"It won't take long.  We can do it later."  Malik walked to the door, then turned and looked back at Bakura.  "Get some rest.  That should help."

Bakura nodded again, then lay back and curled up slightly on the blanket, closing his eyes.

Malik stared at him for a few seconds, and left abruptly.


	16. The Lilim III

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malik stood up as the doctor stepped inside the small room.  Bakura opened his eyes, but otherwise didn't move.

"Well?" Malik asked.

The doctor frowned at his abruptness, but looked at the papers he was holding.  "You have pneumonia," he told Bakura, who blinked slightly and looked at Malik.  "I'd have to take an x-ray to be certain, but based on the congestion in your lungs that's the likeliest explanation.  However, the blood tests also--"

"Blood tests?" Malik interrupted.  "Why did you take a blood test?  We only came in for his cough."

"I can see that," the man said, glancing at the paper again, "but the doctor who examined him found a lesion on his chest, and so--"

Malik turned to glare at Bakura.  "Why didn't you tell me they took blood?" he demanded.

"I had that bandage on my arm..." he answered.  "I didn't think it mattered."

The doctor's brow creased slightly at the change from Arabic to Japanese, and then he cleared his throat.  Malik looked back at him.  "Why was that a reason to take blood?"

"Are you a native to Africa?" the doctor asked.

Malik frowned.  "I've been abroad the past few years.  Why?"

"Ah.  Our current medical practice is to do a blood test whenever a likely symptom of HIV or AIDS is noticed," the man told him.  "So when Dr. Amir found the lesion, he did the testing, and it came up positive."

There was silence.  Malik stared at him.  

"What?"

"I'm afraid he has AIDS," the doctor repeated.  "You're his translator, correct?  I need you to find out who he's recently shared bodily fluids with--needles, unprotected sex, anything like that."

"I--no.  You're wrong."

"I'm sorry, but we are very careful about these tests.  Now, if you can help--"

Malik turned his head.  "We're going," he told Bakura.

"Huh?"

The doctor frowned.  "I can't let you--"

Malik reached into the satchel hanging at his waist and gripped the shaft of the Sennen Rod.  The man's eyes glazed over slightly, and he fell silent.

Bakura stood up.  "Malik-kun, what--?"

Malik grabbed his wrist and started dragging the other teen out of the room.  "Come on, we're leaving."  

He led Bakura out through the hallway and into Luxor City Hospital's waiting room, not letting anyone else look too closely at them.  Bakura took one glance at the half-empty expressions of the people, then shuddered and focused his gaze on Malik's back.

"Malik-kun, what did he **say?"**

When they reached the outdoors, Malik relaxed his grip slightly, though he didn't let go.  He ignored Bakura's subtle attempts to pull free, and instead started walking back towards the youth hostel.

"I can't believe you let them take a blood test," Malik said angrily.  "Don't you realize that they have your DNA on record now?  Don't you remember, my sister said the police are still looking for you!  We have to leave immediately!"

"I can't," Bakura said quietly.

Malik glanced over his shoulder.  "We **have** to.  The police station isn't very far from here!"

"My chest **hurts**, Malik-kun.  I can't do any more traveling today."

That made the other teen slow down.  "...You've got pneumonia," Malik said.  "So we need to get you penicillin or whatever that stuff is.  We'll leave early tomorrow morning, and I'll get it then."

"Okay," Bakura replied.  He gave up and made his arm relax in Malik's grip.

When they turned onto the street that led to the hostel, Bakura spoke up again.  "Malik-kun, I don't know very much Arabic...."

The other teen made a distracted noise, focused on getting through the street without crashing into anyone or having his bag stolen.

"But why did he keep saying 'AIDS'?"

Malik's grip tightened so much that Bakura yelped and jerked his hand free.

The blond's shoulders slumped, and he hesitated a few seconds before turning around.  Bakura was cradling his wrist.  Malik just looked at him, unable to say anything.

"Oh," Bakura said, staring down at the ground.  Malik looked away, then turned around.

"...Come on," he said, starting to walk again.  "We need to get back."

They had almost reached the doors when Bakura said, "I can't be around you."

Malik jerked around.  "What?"

Bakura looked at him.  "Malik-kun, you lived underground half your life.  Your immune system is probably nothing.  You'll catch pneumonia from me."

"I'll..." Malik stared at him.  "Is **that** what you're worried about?  Bakura, don't you understand you're going to **die**?!"  Malik tensed and snapped his mouth shut at that.  A moment later he got control of himself and hissed, "Why are you worried about me?"

"Well, it doesn't make much sense to worry about myself anymore," Bakura replied.  When the other teen just gave him a disbelieving look, he continued.  "Please, don't yell at me, okay, Malik-kun?  I just...I want to go take a nap.  All that walking hurt."

Malik just stood there, so a moment later Bakura went past him into the building.  

Malik stared over the heads of the pedestrians to Shari Maabed el Karnak in the distance.  When he finally turned around and went up to the room, Bakura had already fallen asleep.

That night, Malik woke up when he heard someone stumble out of the room.  He glanced over at Bakura's bed, saw it was empty, and sat up.  Malik rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then pulled his satchel out from beneath his pillow and got up.

He found Bakura in the bathroom, throwing up.  Malik shut the door again and dropped the bag to the floor, waiting.

When Bakura had finished and started wiping his mouth off with the toilet paper, Malik turned on the sink and cupped his hands.  Then he remembered that a foreigner shouldn't drink the water, and let it spill out.  Then he remembered that it didn't matter anymore, and filled them again before holding his hands out for Bakura to drink.

The other teen did, then swished it around and spit it out in the bowl.  Malik repeated the process a few times, until Bakura shook his head and flushed.

As the sound faded out, Bakura folded his arms on the rim and buried his face in them.  Malik slid down to sit on the floor, legs splayed out and leaning against the cabinet.  

Bakura finally broke the silence.  "Why?" he choked out.

Malik's fists tightened.  "I know, it's not fair."

"It's fair, it's so fair," Bakura burst out, jerking up to stare at him with red-rimmed eyes.  "But **why?!"  Malik jumped in surprise when the other teen fell to the side, pressing his head into the blond's chest.  "I didn't ****mean to kill Yuugi!" Bakura cried.  "I'd take it ****back!  I'd take it--"  He broke off into a violent coughing fit.**

Malik wrapped his arms around the brunette and rested his cheek on the top of Bakura's head, closing his eyes at the slightly scratchy feeling of his hair.

When Bakura finally stopped coughing, Malik said flatly, "I'm going to kill them.  I don't care what you want, I'll destroy them all."

There was a pause, and then Bakura whispered, "Do it."

Malik pulled back slightly and stared down at him.  Bakura took the opportunity to push free.  "They shouldn't get to hurt anyone else," he continued.

Malik glared at him.  "What do you think they've **been** doing?" he demanded.  "Why wouldn't you let me earlier!?"

Bakura pressed the heels of his hands to his temples.  "Because you told me you'd have to go through my mind to find their faces!  I don't **want** to **remember!"  He gave Malik a pleading look.  "Can't you do it when I'm asleep, or something?"**

"I can't," Malik said softly.  "It doesn't work that way.  The Rod can only control the conscious."

Bakura squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms harder against his head.

Malik leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the other teen again, but this time Bakura immediately tensed up.  

At that, Malik clenched his jaw and tightened his grip a fraction.  "Look, I'm not going to hurt you," he growled.  "So why can't I ever even touch you?"

Bakura stayed perfectly still, but didn't relax.  "...You can," he said, quiet and bitter.  "You can do whatever you want.  I won't stop you."

Malik pulled away slightly.  "What?"

"I need you," Bakura stared past Malik's shoulder at the wall.  "I'm a stranger, and a criminal, and sick and broke.  I can't survive here on my own.  You're all I have."

Malik let go of him and sat back.  "I'm not a monster," he said under his breath.

"I didn't think I was one, either," Bakura replied tiredly.  "But she proved me wrong."

Malik looked away, and a moment later pulled the satchel closer to him.  "Ready?"

"No."  Bakura shook his head.  "No.  Give me a minute."  He pulled his legs up and folded his arms over them, hiding his face again.

Malik opened his satchel and pulled out the Sennen Rod.  He set it on his lap and removed the Puzzle, Eye, and Tauk as well.

"Wait."  Bakura's voice was muffled.  "There's one man...Soryo-sama.  He came to me the first night, and protected me for a long time."

Glowering at the floor, Malik arranged the other three Items around him in a rough triangle.  "So I should spare him?"

"Then he racked up a debt and sold me," Bakura finished, causing Malik to jerk and look over.  "Cigarettes."  

Bakura lifted his head, and his pale blue eyes were cold.  "Make him hurt."

"I will," Malik promised.


	17. The Lilim IV

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

And that's a wrap. Beware of style changes.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A phone call to Isis had informed Malik that Honda had realized his disappearance coincided with Bakura's, and so he and Jounouchi had convinced Sugoroku ask the authorities to search Egypt.  The DNA record had come up, just like he'd feared.  They were going to be caught.

Even with the Rod and three more Sennen Items on him, Malik was out of his depth.  As they traveled further up the Nile and came closer to the area of Thebes, he had grown leery of using the Rod, not wanting to bring himself to Shadi or any of his disciples' attention.  Which meant that, as Bakura grew progressively sicker, the medicine they had to get just to keep him on his feet in a fraction less pain was costing more than they had.  His sister promised that she would find a way to help him, and said that Rishid was already on his way over, with a new set of black-market passports to replace the now unusable ones Malik held.  She asked where the man should meet them.

After he hung up the phone, Malik managed to get Bakura on a ferry to the West Bank and did the only thing left to do.  He went home.

"It's so dark," Bakura murmured as Malik pulled the trapdoor shut behind them.

The blond gave the rope a last, vicious yank, then clicked on the flashlight and turned around.  He pressed the light into Bakura's hand.  "Just hold it steady," Malik said as he draped Bakura's arm over his shoulder and wrapped his free hand around the brunette's waist.  Bakura didn't protest.

As they began to descend the stairs, Bakura angled the light down to reveal nothing but darkness and more steps and more darkness.  

"I feel like I'm going to suffocate," he said quietly.

Malik grunted, but didn't speak until they finished the long journey down the stairs and had reached his old room.  

He let go of Bakura, causing the other teen to sway slightly on his feet.  Malik pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, struck two before the sulfur finally caught, and lit the torch still attached to the wall.  Bakura turned off the flashlight.

Without blankets or sheets, the bed looked exactly like what it was--a slab of stone.  But Bakura lay out on it without a complaint and soon fell into a fitful sleep.  Malik sat on the ground and leaned against the stone, glaring at the walls.  He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the dream started.

Malik stepped into the room, tossing and catching the pocket knife in one hand.  "You're really stupid, aren't you?" he asked Lilith.  "I'm. not. doing. it."

Lilith shook her head with a laugh.  "So I see."

Malik glared at her.  "So why don't you quit already?"

Lilith simply folded her arms and gave him a small little half-smile.

"You could have saved yourself a great deal of pain if you'd listened to your first dream," the male in the corner said.

Malik's hands started to shake, and he fumbled as he caught the knife.  His fingers tightened around the hilt.  "What are you talking about?"

Lilith tossed a strand of hair behind her shoulder.  "Well," she said, "to make a long story short, He has His servants, and we have ours.  You're so much better off to be one of ours--**we don't directly order you to do what we wish.  With us, you at least have the illusion of free will."**

Malik glowered.  "I **have** free will.  I destroyed all those ties of 'destiny' long ago."

Lilith smiled.  "See?  It's a very believable illusion."  Then she reached out and cupped his cheek.  "But in the end, you really can't change what you were born to be.  You're one of the Lilim.  Trying to deny it will only make you suffer."

Malik jerked his head to the side.  "You're just a dream," he replied.  

Lilith rolled her eyes and straightened.  She made a vague gesture towards the bed.  "He dealt with this far better than you have, you know.  You could afford a little faith."

Malik lip curled up.  "And he isn't suffering at all, because of...of whatever trap you're trying to set."

There was a leathery flap.  "Everything that has happened to him is because of your defiance," the male said.

Malik's hands started shaking again, the spasms traveling up his arms, but he sneered anyway.  "Right."

The demon smirked.  "Do you really believe it beyond my ability to control the vices of men?"

Malik threw the knife at him before crouching slightly and wrapping his arms across his chest in an attempt to stop the shaking.  "Shut up!"

The demon made a brief hand motion, and the blade shifted course, flying away from him and in the direction of the bed.  "A great deal of pain," he repeated, idly.

"That's enough, Lucifer," Lilith said as she looked down at Malik's trembling form.  "I think he understands."

"No," the demon said, "he hasn't woken up yet."

Lilith crouched and lifted Malik's chin, smoothing his hair back as he stared at her.  "Remember, just follow the first dream we gave you, and you'll be fine.  Accept what you are, and no one else you care about--your sister, for instance?--will have to worry."  

She gave him a sweet smile, then glanced over her shoulder at the bed.  "It's a shame, I like him--but I think you'll do more for us than he would have."

Malik looked over.  "What did...."

Lilith stood.  "It's time for you to wake."

He did.

Malik groaned slightly and leaned away from the wall.  A shallow, broken, gasping noise caused him to look up.

Bakura was lying on his back, arms tensely folded over his torso.  The stone around his waist was slightly darker, and the color was beginning to dribble down the side.  Malik could barely make out the hilt of the Swiss Army knife above Bakura's arms.  The blade was buried in his stomach.

Malik stared blankly for a full minute, before finally scrambling onto his feet and over to the bed.  He sank back down to the ground when he reached it, gazing at the other teen in incomprehension.  Reflexively, Malik grabbed the knife and pulled it out.

Bakura screamed and Malik's hand twitched, dropping the blade.  It hit the stone floor with a soft crack that was hidden in the echoes of Bakura's cry.  Blood began to bubble out of the wound at a faster pace.

"I...I di--"  Malik yanked his shirt over his head and pressed it against Bakura's stomach, watching the stain form and grow.  "No...no!!"

Malik started flipping the shirt over, trying to stem the blood flow, and watched as it only grew damp and heavy in his hands.  "Bakura?" he asked frantically.  "Can you hear me?  I need to...I didn't...you....No....Can you hear me!?  Look at me!"

Bakura couldn't, or wouldn't, open his eyes.

Malik's hands clenched in the sodden fabric, and little trickles of blood spilled out to be soaked up by the brunette's shirt.  "Bakura, **look at me!  Can you...."  He stared down at the other teen's face, set in an ugly mask of pain, the mouth unable to take more than shallow gasps of air, the eyes tightly shut.**

Malik shivered, his face twisted in horror.  "...please...."

When Bakura died about thirty minutes later, Malik couldn't find the energy to scream.  He just laid his head on the other teen's leg and cried. 

It felt like a lot of time had passed before he stirred and managed to get up.  The tears had dried to salty tracks on his cheeks, but the shirt was still wet and sticky with blood.

Malik stood and stared at the doorway that led out into the twisting corridors of his home for several minutes.  Then he turned around again and hooked his arms around Bakura's chest, beneath his armpits, and began dragging the body out of the room.

Malik only knew the location of his destination because he had been forbidden to go there.  It was upwards, though it required a different set of steps than the ones to go outside.  He had never been there personally: he had still been hysterical over his father's death, waking up screaming from nightmares and trying to scrape the feeling of blood off his arms and chest, gouging deep into his skin until Rishid had pinned his arms down and Isis--with hands that shook for reasons he hadn't come to understand until five years later--brushed his hair away from his face and crooned him back to sleep.  

For a long time, he had thought if he covered his hands and arms in the Pharaoh's blood, the two would balance out and he would feel clean again.

Rishid had tried to go, but the gashes on his back had reopened at the effort of lifting the man's body, forcing him to return to bed.  So Isis had been left to bury their father by herself.

But Malik still knew the way to the Gravekeeper Clan's own graveyard.

He had to let go of Bakura briefly when he came to the sole door within the underground complex, but he kept one ankle braced against the other teen's ribs as he shoved the door open.  Though he didn't admit this to his conscious mind, if Bakura started to breathe or move again, Malik wanted to be sure he would feel it.

Once he finally got the door open, Malik stared into the long, torchless corridor and realized that he didn't have the flashlight.  He glanced back down the adjacent hallway, then looked down at the body at his feet, and gauged whether running back for the light would be worth the risk of leaving Bakura.

At last he decided that it wouldn't, telling himself that it would be too hard to juggle a body and a flashlight.  So he picked the other teen up and shifted him around, and started down the hallway, with one arm around Bakura's waist half-dragging the brunette, and his free hand trailing along the wall.  Not long after, Malik reached the flight of stairs and made his way up them, slowly, for a long time, before coming to flat ground and another corridor.

He realized that he had reached the necropolis as the air grew steadily more stale and putrid, and the darkness began to lighten to grayness.

Malik's eyes adjusted quickly enough, eleven years of shadow more ingrained than eight of sunlight, and soon he could make out the walls of the hallway.  He carried Bakura forward until he reached the doorway and the short ramp leading down into the crypt.  Then he stopped.

The room was vast, larger even than the burial chambers of some of the pharaohs, and for a good reason--a hundred generations of the Ishtar line were interred there.  Their bodies were laid out, and as time continued and more entered, the old dead were covered by the new, turning to corpses, which turned to skeletons, which turned frail and broke and became dust.  The light came from the ventilation shafts, where sunlight wormed its way in and allowed some measure of sight.  It did little to alleviate the stench, however.  The smell of death was old, imprinted in the walls, as much a part of them as the stone and mortar.

Malik stared numbly at the room which had meant to be the final resting place of himself, and Isis, and Rishid.

He dropped Bakura without really registering it, and backed away slowly until he reached the stairs.  Then he turned and fled, not stopping until he had reached his room again.

Though it felt like a lot of time **must have passed during that trip, the blood on the shirt was still fresh.**

Malik sank down to the floor and leaned against his bed.  He wrapped his arms around his legs, and waited.  

He spent a lot of time wanting to go back and get Bakura, unsettled by the thought of leaving him in close proximity to that room, and even more time wanting to go back and just shut the door to the corridor, hating the thought of that almost tangible feeling of death slithering into the living complex.

After what was an unquestionably long time later, there was the sound of another human being in the hallway; though the only light continued to come from the torch still burning on the wall.

There was a crash, a muted curse, and then he could hear Rishid calling his name.  He didn't answer, and instead glanced at the shirt.  It was still fresh.

A little while later, Rishid moved past the doorway, started, turned and gazed at him with worry.  "Malik-sama?"

Malik glanced up dully, and then his gaze focused.  "What happened to your hand?"

Rishid glanced down reflexively at the scrape on his palm that had occurred from tripping over a loose stone, a faint hint of red appearing among the torn skin.  Then, confused, he looked back at Malik and took careful steps into the room.  "Malik-sama, what has happened?  Where--where is Bakura-san?  Are you well?"

Malik stared at the scrape a moment longer, before pulling his gaze away.  Then his hand dropped to the shirt and squeezed it tightly, smearing the infected blood over his palm.  He looked at Rishid again, and held out his hand.

"No," Malik answered.  "Help me up."


End file.
